


Assume nothing

by dogandmonkeyshow



Series: Moscow rules [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Careers Have Issues, Gen, first day on the job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 16:26:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15934148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogandmonkeyshow/pseuds/dogandmonkeyshow
Summary: When looking forward to his expected acceptance into the highly selective Foreign Office training program, the last thing he’d have believed possible was that he’d be assigned to awoman.





	Assume nothing

**Author's Note:**

> The first in an occasional series on the early years of Mycroft's career, based on the [Moscow rules](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Moscow_rules), mostly famously articulated in le Carre's Cold War novels.

Mycroft sat at the table in the small, bland conference room and forced himself not to stare.

When looking forward to his expected acceptance into the highly selective Foreign Office training program, the last thing he’d have believed possible was that he’d be assigned to a _woman_. In the inexplicable nature of it, Mycroft sensed the residual trace heat of his uncle’s hand, carefully nudging game pieces into his own pre-determined alignment. Mycroft hated it.

Well, he admitted to himself, he rarely ended up enjoying Rudy’s mix of meddling and mentorship, but he hated this particular manifestation more than usual, as the hate was tinged with disappointment. 

The woman fixed him with a look that said:

1\. She knew her femaleness was unexpected;  
2\. She knew her femaleness was unwelcome;  
3\. Mycroft was free to make an ass of himself over 1. and 2. and it would be of no concern to her whatsoever; and (Mycroft suspected):  
4\. She knew he hadn’t absorbed a word she’d said since she’d sat in the chair across from him, fixated as he was with scrambling for a response to all the above.

“So, Mr Holmes, what are we going to do with you?” she mused as she leant back in her chair, folding her hands demurely at the edge of the table. Her chair was a little too low for the height of the table, so the angle of her arms made it look as though her hands were folded in supplication. But Mycroft was inclined to think they might hold his future career, so he didn’t dare to think of them as demure, weak or delicate. He also thought she likely knew exactly where to jab one of her tiny thumbs to kill him instantly, so sexist preconceptions weren't exactly in his best interests. 

The annoying voice at the back of his mind raised the possibility that this lesson was the reason Rudy had chosen her. Mycroft told it to shut up and stop distracting him; he needed to concentrate.

She continued to wait for him to make any kind of acknowledgement of her presence besides dumb idiocy. He fiercely stamped down his trickster humour, tempting him to blurt out, “Whatever you want, ma’am.” Even in his current sense-deprived state he knew there were too any forms of professional suicide embedded in that statement, not least of which was the fatuous submissiveness. If the FO had wanted submissive, Mycroft would have failed his evaluation, spectacularly.

After a second of mental fumbling, he managed to get out, “Whatever you think might make best use of my talents, ma’am,” as he mentally nodded to himself that that was a fine balance between appropriate display of knowing his place, without grovelling, and a gentle reminder the he actually possessed some value.

“Yes. Talents,” she replied in a tone that said he should perhaps have realised it had been a rhetorical question. She paused and Mycroft thought he could hear the sound of her turning over the pages of his file in her mind. Then again, he thought, perhaps the pause was meant to cause him to think just that and be concerned at what she was finding. He resolved to not allow himself to be unnerved.

Her examination became microscopically more intent. “I’ve been led to believe you have considerable facility with foreign languages. Seven so far, isn’t it?”

Mycroft’s heart sank: he hadn’t fought as hard as he had for as long as he had just to be used as some sort of translation skivvy. “With variable fluency. My Arabic and Turkish are still, unfortunately, rudimentary. And I’ve been told my German accent needs some polishing.” Polite, but sufficiently unenthusiastic to get his message across, he thought.

Her equally polite, bland smile widened a fraction. “You have fair command of your expression for a man your age.”

Mycroft knew it wasn’t a compliment, so didn’t thank her, though for some reason his heart rate began to rise. “My mother valued a controlled demeanour.” _Doesn’t mean she always got it, mind._

“Ah.” For the first time, the faintest allusion of a smile hovered over her face for a moment. “Your mother. That would be Rudy Scott’s sister, wouldn’t it?”

Mycroft had hoped Rudy wouldn’t come up, but he resolved to bear it with good grace. “Yes.”

“I understand she was a mathematician.”

“Yes. Unfortunately, my younger brother was the only one who inherited that particular gift.”

The woman’s lips pursed a millimetre for the blink of an eye. 

_Of course she knows about Eurus_. Mycroft’s body sighed, while he held it in his mouth like a lint-covered licorice allsort, until he could swallow it without gagging. Mycroft decided to not assume the woman had any particular opinions on the matter of Eurus, at least not until it became necessary to address them. He held himself mute, waiting for a sign from her. He held out little hope either of seeing it, but what was life without a little hope, he mused.

“Have no fear, Mycroft; we have no intention of using you as some sort of human calculator. Mathematicians we have in abundance. People who can think—really think—are another matter entirely.”

“Yes, so I assumed.”

She leant forward a little, as if to share a confidence. “Let that be the last time one of those crosses your mind, and you and I should get on famously.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Mycroft ensured she could hear his recognition of the mild rebuke.

She smiled again—a genuine smile. Mycroft would have thought he’d find it reassuring, but he didn’t. He didn't know why, exactly. And he wasn't sure if it was the not knowing that disturbed him the most.

~ + ~


End file.
